


Peace

by IReadAndWriteSometimes



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IReadAndWriteSometimes/pseuds/IReadAndWriteSometimes
Summary: Lucien's nightmare wakes Jean up.
Relationships: Jean Beazley/Lucien Blake
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure this is exactly about Jean, but here’s my little Jeanuary fanfic contribution.  
> Apologies for any fails. It was written on my phone before bed in record time.

Lucien’s loud gasp as he suddenly sat up in the wee hours of the morning startled Jean awake. The faint light of sunrise illuminated the room enough for her to make out his silhouette next to her, and one glance at him confirmed her suspicions. He was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath, recovering from a nightmare. It had been a while since last the horrors of the war haunted his dreams, and it would seem they finally returned with a vengeance. With a heavy heart, she gently reached for his hand, careful not to startle him, then sighed when she felt how clammy his skin was. At the contact, he looked her way and immediately his shoulders sagged, no doubt in regret over disturbing her slumber, too.

“I’m sorry, Jean,” he mumbled, averting his gaze, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She shuffled up to a seated position and ran her hand up his back. His heart was racing, and the shirt he was wearing was damp with cold sweat. “Never you mind that,” she said quietly, her fingers reaching the back of his neck to soothingly knead into the muscles she was not surprised to find taut with tension, “are you alright?”

He sighed, then flopped back down onto the mattress, rubbing his face. She did not extricate her now trapped hand between his head and his pillow. Instead she rubbed her thumb encouragingly along his neck, and patiently waited out his answer.

His eyes remained closed as he took inventory of his feelings, but when he opened them, there was a haunting look in them that sent a chill down her spine. “No,” he admitted reluctantly, “I’m afraid I’m not.”

His defeated tone caused her heart to constrict painfully. The nightmares used to happen nearly nightly when he first returned to Ballarat. Over time, they abated somewhat, or perhaps he became better at hiding them from her, but in the past year of their marriage, she counted perhaps only a handful of them, and each time her heart broke for him.

She lay down as well, rolling onto her side, and scooted close to him. He willingly accepted her offered comfort, and heaved a steadier breath when she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered.

Not unexpectedly, she felt him shake his head. “It will pass,” he assured her.

Knowing not to push, she reluctantly heeded his wish, but simply wrapped her free arm around his torso, and held him tightly. His heartbeat had settled down somewhat, but he remained wound up, the muscles beneath her hands rigid. “I wish I could make them go away,” she murmured, more to herself than him.

He wrapped his own arm around her, and squeezed. “Most of the time you do,” he told her, kissing the top of her head.

Perhaps she helped, she liked to hope that she did, but on nights like these she felt both helpless and useless. Rather than debating with herself, or him, she allowed silence to envelop them, hoping her presence alone might chase the terrors away and lull him back to sleep.

Minutes passed. She concentrated on his breathing and heartbeat, and as both gradually evened out, glad that he was drifting off, finally allowed herself to do so as well.

She was on the verge of going down completely under when she heard his low rumble. “I mean it, you know.”

“Hmm,” she mumbled sleepily in askance.

“You do help,” he clarified.

She was too drowsy to really argue, and merely hummed her acknowledgment.

He, on the other hand, went on. “I am no longer sure what peace is supposed to feel like,” he sighed long and deeply, “if I ever felt at peace at all, it must have been decades ago.”

When he paused, she gripped his side, her curiosity defying the pull of sleep.

In response he secured her even more tightly in his embrace, placed a long, soft kiss to her hair, and then finally elaborated. “These episodes aside,” he scoffed a little at that word, “I think, Jean, it may feel a lot like you.”

There was no apt verbal response to that, certainly not at this hour. Touched, and just so incredibly moved by the sincerity she heard in his words, she moved only enough to kiss a random spot above his heart, and nestled back comfortably against him. When that finally caused the last of the tension in his body to fully dissipate, she even smiled, but remained awake for a long while after he fell back asleep.

She understood the sentiment more than she cared to admit. For so long, not only after Christopher’s death, but after his leaving, her life had been so tumultuous. It was very much filled with care and love for her children, yes, and she had found some happiness as well, but there was also so much worry and grief and hardship. Under those circumstances, peace was hardly on her mind, and attainable even less so.

These days, the occasional nightmare aside, life was indeed very much peaceful. It was happy and joyful, most every day filled with smiles, laughter, love, or passion, and what few bad days she still had, he made easily surmountable.

On these thoughts, she too, finally drifted off again, but before she did, she mumbled into the semi-dark room, “You bring me peace, too, Lucien.”


End file.
